Dreams of Blood and Roses
by bkwrmnlvnit
Summary: Before he was CR-S01, he was a boy named Erhard Muller. When he was a boy named Erhard Muller, he had a family. And when he had a family, he could remember what it felt like to have a home. Rated for language and themes.


**So it's that beautiful time of the year again. You guessed it - Single's Awareness day. Actually, it's that beautiful time of the year over for me now, or close to it, so I suppose technically, this is coming a little late, but whatever. **

**So. The summary of my day today. I spent it alone, drawing, reading, procrastinating, and trying to get an original fiction romance one-shot to work out. Guess what I didn't get accomplished. After it became obvious that that would fail, I tried to go to fanfiction, which was going to be a MariaxCR-S01 Sickfic. Judging by what I'm posting, you can also guess how well that went. So, I went to my last resort of platonic fiction. Originally, I wanted to do my Sweethearts theme for Raberba Girl's 'Other Kinds of Love' challenge in Kingdom Hearts, but that wouldn't participate mentally either, so I went to the next idea for platonic love - which was, of course, this story. This one, after several attempts, actually started to write decently, so I stuck with it, and I got the first chapter of a story which I've been thinking about for some time.**

**Basically, it's the story of CR-S01's story, when he was Erhard Muller, young orphan boy, getting adopted by Albert and growing up with Rosalia, all of that. I think it's an interesting story to consider, so I'm going to try and write it over the course of time. Eventually, I'd like to do one such story for all of the Trauma Team doctors (except probably Naomi since, really, we already know almost everything about both her and Little Guy), but that may be some time in coming. Right now, I'll just stick to this and my platonic love.**

**So...Yeah. This probably isn't my best story (and the title's definitely open to change when I'm less sleep deprived),but I hope it isn't bad (it didn't seem awful when I wrote it, at least.) Happy Valentine's, everyone! Hope yours was good, and I hope you enjoy the story. :)**

The first thing Erhard noticed of Professor Sartre was that he smelled like smoke.

As he entered the room, the scent hit him almost instantly – the warm, homey smell of fire, deep and earthy, mixed with the sharp, medical smell of sanitization. It radiated around the blue haired man like an aura, pleasant and welcoming. With the wrinkled black suit and equally wrinkled medical coat and the stubble he wore on his chin, the Professor looked rumpled, like he'd slept in his clothes the night before and woken up late.

Erhard felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, Annie's. She was a black haired, blue eyed, wisp of an assistant, and she was never anything but careful with the children. This time was no exception as she propelled him deeper into the smell, towards the man who looked so much himself like a socially awkward child. The hand left his shoulder, and behind him, he could hear the soft click of a door being closed. He was alone now, alone with this strange man in a familiar room, the same room he'd been in several times for all the other people who wanted to come and see about adopting him but had run the other direction the first time they had a chance.

Both of them stood awkwardly now in the room, pretending neither one of them could feel the stares of Annie and at least three other administrators through the two way mirror lining one wall. Erhard carefully kept his hair swept in front of his eyes, looking down at his shoes. Under his arm, his grip on the medical textbook tightened until he was certain he'd be leaving dents in his palm again. All he wanted was to get this over with, rather than drag out the inevitable rejection.

There was a brief shuffling noise, and he closed his eyes, stiffening slightly as if preparing for a blow. Slowly, he looked up through the veil of black hair – and found the Professor, sitting in a crouch and looking back at him.

"Hello." His voice was gravelly, low, with a certain degree of warmth. There was a light French accent hiding in his tone, adding an even quality to it.

Erhard shifted his eyes to look back at his shoes again. "Hello," he murmured. The silence hung between them for a moment, and there was just the nearly inaudible buzz of the fluorescent lighting haunting the air.

The Professor cleared his throat, making a low humming noise, as though he was unsure of what to say. "I'm Professor Sartre," he introduced. "Did they tell you about me?"

Erhard nodded mutely. "They said you would like to meet me," he admitted. _Like all the other people. All those people who ran away. _

Professor Sartre nodded, and Erhard looked up for a moment before shooting his gaze back down. He heard a soft sigh, as if the adult was struggling for words while he observed his shoes.

"Erhard." His voice was gentle, nowhere near pressing. "Would you…hm. Would you look at me?"

Erhard stiffened. His hands fisted tightly, and slowly he looked up, meeting the Professor's eyes almost through the veil of hair.

"Let me see your eyes," he requested. The eight-year-old shut them for a moment, then reopened them, carefully brushing his hair out of his face and looking down. Steeling himself for the inevitable fear, he then raised his gaze, meeting the Professor's.

Intense and ruby red, they seemed to glare terrifyingly through the remaining strands of black hair. _Unnatural, _that was what he heard them saying whenever he showed his eyes. _Killer. Different._

He waited for the flinch, for the flash of disgust in the strange, brown eyes that were crinkled at the edges. He could hear the gasp of shock already, see the man standing up and backing away noticeably. That was what everyone always did.

He didn't.

Erhard almost frowned for a moment. What was going on here? Where was the fear, the horror that was a default response to seeing him? Maybe it was just a delayed reaction. That was it, of course. He was just taking a few minutes to sort through the surprise, then he'd be afraid. He'd back away from the boy with the solemn face and the red eyes. The boy who was emotionless, who read about hemorrhagic fever instead of the Magic Tree House. Nobody could see him and not be afraid. Not even a rumpled Professor who was awkward and almost like a child himself and smelled like warm and earth and smoke. It was just a few minutes.

A minute passed. Two. Erhard wondered for a moment if his own surprise was starting to show on his face as the Professor's gaze stayed steady on his.

Then. "Your eyes are very unique, Erhard." There was no fear or horror, just a gentle sort of respect. He wasn't afraid. _He wasn't afraid._

Erhard stared for a moment, before shaking himself. "Thank you." They kept staring in absolute silence for a long time. He wasn't sure how long they had been when there was a soft click.

This half hour visit was over. Nobody was afraid or hiding. They were still staring at each other when Annie walked through the door, crouching down by the small boy.

"Erhard," she murmured. "Time's up. Let's go back until next time."

_Until next time. _Usually, there was no 'next time'. It was always, 'Let's go back, and we can go to the library in about half an hour,' or 'let's go back, and then I'll come and help you with your terminology.' The words 'Let's go back' always came with a promise tagging on afterwards, a compensation prize for having to spend so much time with people who were afraid of him and who would never be able to love a child with red eyes and a quiet nature.

This was foreign, and he nodded uncertainly, still watching Professor Sartre, even as he straightened and stood. He kept watching as Annie propelled him gently out of the room, looking over his shoulder in silence at the rumpled man until the walls completely hid him from sight.

He looked at the floor then, almost disbelieving as they walked along the corridors, not saying anything. His eyebrows were still furrowed together, and his mind was speeding along, running through the all but silent last half hour. Barely any words had been exchanged over the course of it, and for any of the other children, the quietude would have been awkward.

But as Annie deposited him in his room, the room he shared with three other boys with normal eyes and normal hobbies that included playing sports and getting into fights, he was feeling anything but awkward. The door shut quietly behind the woman as she went, murmuring something he was only partially listening to before leaving. Still in his own thoughts, he looked at the floor, medical textbook loose in his hands.

_Until next time. _An almost disbelieving smile came close to flickering across his face.

_There's going to be a next time, _he thought, and then he opened his book and began to read.


End file.
